


Fancy Dress

by Mottlemoth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Costumes, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Fancy Dress, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Married Couple, Married mystrade, halloween party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29942718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/pseuds/Mottlemoth
Summary: Mycroft and Greg Holmes-Lestrade are the reigning Halloween costume kings. Already facing fierce competition from Sherlock and John, disaster strikes when Greg orders the wrong costumes - but Mycroft has a cunning plan.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 10
Kudos: 110





	Fancy Dress

**Author's Note:**

> Once housed with the rest of my ficlets, this story has now spread its wings and taken flight all on its own. Thank you to the readers who requested that it become a separate work. I've gone for an over-cautious M rating because of bedroom talk, but this is 99% hijinks. Why I've decided to post it in March, not October, heaven knows.
> 
> Please give me a shout if you ever spot my stories reposted somewhere else. <3

Greg knew he should have checked the box.

Looking back, he’d had a weird premonition on the morning the package arrived. _Best check it’s the right ones... biggest night of the year._ But he’d pushed the thought right out of his head. It was the same company they’d used last year, after all, and the two of them had gone down a storm. Peter Pan and his shadow; Mycroft had been Peter. Greg still got little shivers thinking about his husband’s endless legs in those slinky green tights. Greg himself had spent the entirety of the Halloween party sneaking after Mycroft, dressed entirely in black, causing chaos and mischief at every opportunity. It had been amazing. They’d taken the top prize without a blink, and Sherlock—dressed grumpily as Batman, with his faithful Robin as ever at his side—had sulked for nearly a week.

Greg had never really noticed Halloween until he’d started dating Mycroft. That first October, he’d discovered the startling penchant for fancy dress. It made sense, though: the suits, the ties, the cufflinks. They were all part of the same urge. Mycroft liked to be looked at. With Greg at his side, his playfulness unlocked, they’d been the talk of Halloween for years now.

They were going for top prize again this year. Pirates— _proper_ pirates. Greg was looking forward to the eyeliner. He’d been practicing the accent in his office while doing paperwork, to the concern of everyone who’d stumbled in. The delivery arrived in plenty of time from the costume company, and was stored at the bottom of the wardrobe ahead of the big night.

Then October 31st rolled around, and as soon as Greg opened up the package, he realised that something was wrong.

A huge amount of puffy black netting met his startled gaze. He rummaged through the box for the order slip, growing yet more concerned as he came across a red and black silk bodice. There was a second bodice at the bottom of the box, and tucked underneath it, the order slip. Greg tugged it out in concern, searching the printed form for some sign of what the hell was going on.

As he spotted it, his chest nearly caved.

 _"Bollocks,"_ he groaned under his breath.

They were indeed pirate costumes, and in the perfect sizes, with only one small problem. Greg thought quickly, knowing that this news was going to shipwreck his husband’s favourite night of the year. Mycroft was still in the shower. They only had a few hours to go until the party.

There was one thing he could do to lessen the damage.

He was ready by the time he heard the shower turn off. 

"Mycroft?" he called through the bathroom door.

"Mm?"

"We've hit a bit of a snag, love."

There came a slight pause through the door. "A snag?" The door unlocked. Greg braced himself. "What kind of—"

The door swung open. Mycroft appeared, fresh out of the shower and wrapped in a towelling robe. His hair was still wet, his grey eyes bright.

As they caught sight of Greg, they widened to the size of golf balls.

Greg waited, hands on his hips, for the verdict. The red and black satin bodice heaved across his hairy chest; the puffy black skirt did not cover his underpants. The fishnets were already digging in and the high-heeled boots had turned his calves to solid rock.

"I ordered lady pirates," Greg said.

Mycroft took in this news, staring at his husband in astonishment.

His expression then cracked.

It took ten minutes for the worst of the laughter to subside, then a further ten to get Greg out of the bodice.

"I’m sorry, love. I’m an idiot. I should’ve checked the box when it arrived."

"You’re not an idiot," Mycroft soothed, still flushed in the face and smirking. All potential for anger had been startled out of him by the sight of his lawfully-wedded husband in piratical fishnets. It was a memory to cherish. "You’re _ridiculous,_ perhaps, but not an idiot. No matter. We’ll merely have to think of something else."

"Last minute, you mean?"

"Mm..."

"You know what your brother and John are doing, don’t you? Frankenstein and the monster. They've been working on it for weeks. That was going to be hard to beat anyway. Sherlock’s determined to have first place in the costume contest this year."

Mycroft idled across to their wardrobe, opening it up. He bit his lip as he surveyed the range of clothing inside it: Greg’s to the left; Mycroft’s to the right.

An idea occurred. Greg watched it flash across his eyes.

"What?" he asked, smiling, as Mycroft reached into the wardrobe.

His husband hummed. "Do you know the key to genius, my darling?"

Greg grinned. "Go on, gorgeous. Dazzle me."

With a flourish, Mycroft slid free one of his work suits. 

"Simplicity," he purred.

***

Two hours later, as they made their way along the street towards the party, they practiced their performance.

"A little straighter in your back," Mycroft said. "You’ll need to give an impression of height... _there._ That’s it. Slower, perhaps. Take your time."

Greg tried it, slowing his steps right down. _Each step with care,_ he thought, as if the world were entirely under his command. He loosened his wrist around the black umbrella, strode with it rather than just carrying it, and everything fell into place.

"Magnificent," Mycroft breathed, beaming in the darkness. 

"Sure?"

"Yes. Keep your chin high... _yes!_ Perfect!"

Greg grinned. "You’re weirdly observant of yourself, you know that? Okay, here goes... show me yours."

Mycroft took a moment to mull it over. He then eased his hands deep into the pockets of the heavy black coat he wore, settling his shoulders lower, broader and more square. He adopted a rather sullen frown, regarding Greg with weary but stern resignation.

Greg laughed aloud. "Christ," he said.

 _"‘Christ,’"_ Mycroft copied, crumpling of his brow. 

Greg laughed again. It was perfect. They’d greyed Mycroft’s hair and scruffed it up, taking care not to get any grey on his clean white work-shirt. Greg’s hair had been reddened and slicked neatly back.

"Final touches," Mycroft murmured, opening up the Waitrose carrier bag they’d acquired on the way. "I’m sorry, dear heart. It had to be done."

He’d purchased an empty coffee cup and a pack of ring donuts. 

"What’s the—?" Greg asked, lost.

Mycroft retrieved a donut from the packaging, took a bite from it, and said gruffly with his mouth full, _"Not our division."_

"Christ!"

 _"Christ,"_ Mycroft mimicked again. He was getting far too good at this, Greg thought. "Practice, please," Mycroft said in his usual voice. "We have Frankenstein and his monster to beat."

Greg straightened his back again, drawing up to a height he didn’t really possess. The umbrella was key to all this. He gripped it lazily, curling his hand around the handle with an idleness and dexterity as if his fingers were much longer. He surveyed Mycroft along his nose, arched an eyebrow, and on an idea he reached sleekly inside the borrowed tweed waistcoat. He slipped out the antique pocket watch, consulting it with theatrical disregard, as if the time were in fact quite an irrelevance.

"Perfect," Mycroft said, delighted. "I’m flattered by your attention to detail, darling."

Greg inclined his head, coolly, fixing his lover with an imperious glare. "How kind of you, _detective inspector,"_ he purred. This was far too much fun. "And might I congratulate you on your nuanced portrayal of the chippy East End copper you married?" he drawled. "The casual blasphemy and the heady scowl are truly superb. I’m quite astonished."

Mycroft’s eyes glittered with delight.

"Cheers, Mr Holmes," he said, in his very best impression of Greg: gruff, fond, vowels flat to the ground. "Comes pretty easily, to be honest. You just have to slouch a foot off your height and the rest solves itself."

"Oi," Greg grinned, his eyes flashing. "Right... c'mere. Kiss me before we go in."

They kissed happily in the dark. Mycroft’s hands slid beneath Greg's suit jacket, rubbing the silk back of his waistcoat.

"Darling?" he murmured against Greg’s mouth.

Greg was trying not to enjoy the lingering hint of donut on his lips. "Mm?"

"Promise me one thing?"

"Anything, love. Name it."

He felt Mycroft smirk against his mouth. "Don’t make me keep this act up once we’re home, will you?" he said. "I’m not sure I could quite pull it off." He raised an eyebrow, and mimicked Greg’s low, rumbling tones. _"Oh, Myc... that’s it... take me deep."_

Greg’s eyebrows nearly reached his slicked-back hair. He looked up into his husband's eyes with amusement, swishing his tongue around his back teeth. How did it go again? God knew he’d heard it enough times. He leant close to Mycroft’s ear, nuzzled his earlobe and whimpered, _"Greg... please, Greg. Ruin me. Oh god, Greg. I’m yours. Please make me come."_

"Bastard," Mycroft whispered.

Greg grinned. "Guilty." He twirled his umbrella with a smirk, lifting up his chin. "C'mon, gorgeous. Let’s go ruin your brother’s Halloween."


End file.
